Day 11: Mondays Always Come

Sorry Korona. Mondays always come. Your idea of staying awake Sunday night in the hopes of Monday not coming is solid. But I tried it all last week in order to slow down the unemployment train, make it last a little longer, but it didn't work. Damn the Gregorian calendar. And the pope who came up with it. Greg, Pope Greg, Greg the Pope, is that his name?

11:00am. I feel like I should be doing something. I managed to get pants on, but I really don't like the feeling on my legs. The fact that I have them on now, I feel like I should be going somewhere or something. I've now decided that I'm doomed finding a job other than at the gas station or grocery store. And if that's what it comes down to, I'm just going to work the nightshift in the worst part of Scarborough and hope I get shot. Or hey, I can go back to school, yet again for another thousand years, for say, engineering. Engineering, that's a good one! Lose all grasp on reality, like we were talking about earlier, become a leg-humper. What happens when an engineer gets together with another engineer? How would that work? I'm not getting a clear picture here of simultaneous leg-humping.

I'm thinking if I really want to go the suicidal route during my tenure on unemployment (don't worry, I'm just PMSing, every month I want to kill myself at least once until the feeling of a tumor the size of a basketball growing on my ovaries goes away), spice up the suicide a little, I should get a job driving taxis around Edmonton. Edmonton is a knife town, so I imagine I wouldn't die right away, I'd just bleed slowly to death. Or I could be an Edmonton cop, but I already see a few problems with that. I wouldn't be able to arrest anyone for speeding, pot, or having darker skin. I'm pretty sure that's the entire population of the jails and all courts cases around here.

Well, at least I'm better with the OCD lately. Except that I've still got a fear of large suitcases (I've got a fear of small pyschopaths who can hide in large suitcases so therefore I've got a fear of large suitcases), small airplanes (coming back from LA via San Fran on a Canadair. I'm a little concerned about that), really large airplanes (Airbus thinks they can fly 500 pax planes across the ocean. Hopefully they can build a plane that can land on water and float this time because they certainly have problems with making ones that fly), churches (they are always getting people to drink stuff, reminds me of Jonestown), wax (I'm afraid of it tearing my skin completely off), high-heel shoes (I'm afraid of heights, and anything that makes me an inch taller or more makes me feel like the air is getting thinner and I'm going to stop breathing or fall to my death), sharp knifes (I only buy dull ones), sharp scissors (I hide them before I go to sleep), and men with mustaches (seriously, that is like 70's-I'm going-to-sexually-harass-you-creepy-dude and very unhygienic, no?).

Things I'm going to do today: Check to make sure there isn't a small pyschopath hiding in my large suitcase, pack my large suitcase for Mexico before a small pyschopath can sneak into it and hide, check my pockets for loose pills and other random objects that might get me arrested at the airport, and open a new jar of peanut butter. There, life isn't so bad.